


oh lord won't you buy me

by song_of_staying



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Boots - Freeform, M/M, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_of_staying/pseuds/song_of_staying
Summary: "I'll go get us dinner," Bronn says, "but I want you to give me your boots first.""I don't think they'll fit you," Tyrion says, sweet as honey."Don't pretend you're stupider than you are," Bronn says, exactly as sweet.





	oh lord won't you buy me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of an earlier fic I'd posted to a different account! I stayed particularly fond of the title.

When he arrives to King's Landing, Bronn gets his sword sharpened, and he buys himself a knife and a winter cloak. The rest of his earnings, he keeps in a good safe place. Most nights, Tyrion pays for the drinks and the girls.

He doesn't need new boots. His old pair's torn and ugly, and he likes it that way. He earned those boots himself, took them off of some hedge knight's corpse.

The new pair looks good. It's not surprising that Tyrion's got good taste in this, too. These must have cost a cock and a half, but they weren't made with courtiers in mind. They leave marks on the polished stone floors. They could take Bronn to the Wall and back without tearing, and he could use them to kick a man to death, if he needed to. They're just the right size, smaller than the hedge knight's.

“You have strange feet,” Tyrion says. He's pacing, like some caged beast, and not really paying attention to Bronn. He's just flapping his mouth, really, while his mind is still on politics. Bronn can't stop watching him, pressing his back against a granite column. “Nowhere near as strange as mine, of course, but I still thought you should know.”

“How would you know that?”

“I measured them.” Just for a moment, he gets Tyrion's full attention. “When you passed out drunk the other night. I told you not to play drinking games with Flea Bottom girls. Not even I can beat them."

It's not like Tyrion needs to be careful with his money. It's fine that he's greedy and laughable, and spends it on things he shouldn't.

"I'm not your sweetheart, you know," Bronn says anyway, just when Tyrion's back is turned. "You don't need to buy me silks and flowers to keep me loyal."

"All the gold in my father's treasury isn't enough to keep you loyal," Tyrion says, and Bronn laughs. Tyrion does know him better than an idiot noble should. "It was only a gift. You don't have to wear it. It's not my livery, or anything so crude."

"I'm never wearing your livery," Bronn promises, and lets him get back to his very important letters.

* * *

Bronn's tent isn't the biggest one in the camp, but he'd wager he's got more blankets than even Queen Cersei. He's been stealing them regularly ever since he realized they'd all be going north in the end.

"Cover up, you stubborn bastard," he tells Tyrion, and throws a pillow at him. It lands with some force.

"Do you treat all of your prisoners with this kind of courtesy, or is it reserved for the exceptionally ugly ones?" Tyrion isn't looking at him, really, but at least he's getting under the blankets.

"I don't usually keep prisoners," Bronn tells him. "I guess Ser Jaime thought you'd be safest with me."

" _Ser_ Jaime," Tyrion says, cold. Bronn had chosen the word deliberately. "Does Ser Jaime's generosity extend to bringing us dinner, or am I to expect to be nibbled upon in the night?"

"I'll go get us dinner," Bronn says, "but I want you to give me your boots first."

"I don't think they'll fit you," Tyrion says, sweet as honey.

"Don't pretend you're stupider than you are," Bronn says, exactly as sweet. "If you try to run, you're losing some toes to frostbite. Up to you, of course, nobody ever said I have to keep you in one piece."

Tyrion throws him the boots, doesn't even aim for him. Bronn stays long enough to make sure Tyrion's properly covered up.

He takes the boots with him to the mess tent. There's always a ring of hungry boys waiting around, pages without lords attached. Bronn could give them the boots to clean, wouldn't even have to pay for it. They would do anything for an extra helping.

He can take care of it himself, though. It's just mud and snow and maybe a little blood, nothing Bronn hasn't handled before. If Tyrion wants them polished, he's going to have to wait until he's free.


End file.
